Sessions
by Artemis024
Summary: Post Untethered: Robert Goren is required to see a shrink.
1. Chapter 1: Entrance Examination

This is my first Law & Order: Criminal Intent story. I am pretty pleased with it... and it is done! So you won't have to wait long between chapters, but it is also only 5 chapters long.

This takes place after Untethered.... I made the chapters relatively short so that they are manageable. :-)

Let me know what you think!

DMJ

I DID NOT CREATE THE CHARACTERS USED. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO DICK WOLF, NBC/USA, YADDA YADDA....

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**Chapter 1: Entrance Examination**

Detective Robert Goren walked into the building with his body hurting with anxious nerves. He walked to the receptionist's desk and waited while the young woman finished a phone call.

Once done, she looked up and, with a smile, said, "Detective Goren?"

"Yes."

"Doctor Olivet will be with you in just a moment. Please make yourself comfortable."

Before Bobby even reached a chair, the office door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. "Detective Goren, please come inside." Bobby lumbered into the room and stood, as if uncertain what to do. "Please sit." He rested on the couch cushion's edge and waited for the doctor to seat herself in the across chair. He saw his police file on the coffee table, with his academy photo on top. He tried to remember how long it had been since he last looked that health. Quite a while probably.

Olivet was seated, with pen and paper pad ready. "It's nice to meet you, Detective Goren. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Olivet. I understand that this is not voluntary therapy, but I hope I can help you in any way possible. First, would you rather be called Detective? Robert?"

"You can all me Bobby." He could feel his leg shaking, but couldn't seem to stop it, so he sat further back in the couch and crossed his legs.

"Alright, Bobby. I don't want to force you in any way here. So to better get a sense of who you are, I would like you to start this session."

"I... I'm not certain what to say, exactly."

"Well, how about you explain why you think the department wants you to see me."

Bobby sighed. He knew that she already knew all of this. He knew how this worked. And he didn't like it. But he would do his best to be convincing. His job was on the line. "I recently found out about a nephew of mine. He was in some trouble and I wanted to help, but the Captain wouldn't let me. So I went undercover at Tates Correctional Facility. It was dangerous and dumb, but I did it. I proved the corruption that my nephew, Donny, had told me about. I'm glad I did it. I saved lives."

"If that's the case, why then are you here? Why would you be suspended for saving lives?"

"I was suspended because I wasn't authorized to go undercover." He paused. "And because the doctors at Tates said I showed signs of schizophrenia." He was ashamed to admit that... the disease that took his mother from him many years ago. He looked away, as if he was looking out the window, but really his eyes were focused on nothing.

Olivet said, "Do you ever worry that you might be schizophrenic?" She examined Bobby, trying to read his face.

He looked back at her and flatly replied, "Having a schizophrenic mother taught me the warning signs."

"That doesn't answer my question. Do you ever see those signs in yourself?"

"No." Short and sweet.

Olivet shifted in her chair and continued, "Detective Goren, Bobby, I'll be honest with you. You managed to convince a lot of trained people that you were schizophrenic."

Bobby signed deeply. "Growing up with someone with the disease, I learned a lot. My mother could trick her doctors but I could see right through her games. I had to be convincing in order to go as deep into the prison as I needed to."

"So how do I know that you're not playing these tricks on me? How can I be certain that you're not playing the system just like your mother did?"

Bobby tried to sound innocent as he asked, "Why would I do that?"

"Come on, don't jerk me around. I know your reputation, Bobby. I know how passionate you are about your work. I need to know that you're telling me your true thoughts, because if I am uncertain at any point, I won't be able to allow a potentially schizophrenic detective on the streets with a gun. Do you understand?"

Bobby sat silently, just observing the doctor... unnerving her. Both sat in silence for what had to have been at least five minutes. They watched each other. The only movement came from Bobby's shaking, fidgeting leg. He wanted to read her. He wanted to find a way so that he wasn't manipulated.

Finally, Olivet said, "You don't have to talk. You can sit quietly as long as you want. I get paid either way. But sitting there like this won't help your case. And you know it. So I am going to ask you again. "How can I be certain that you won't have a violent psychotic break?"

Bobby crossed his arms again and leaned further back. "Not all schzophrenics are violent."

"And not all psychotic breaks are schizophrenic."

Bobby gave in. "I guess no one can be certain of the future. But I'm not schizophrenic.... or psychotic. Hell, I'm nearly 50 and I've never had any kind of mental episode!"

The doctor remained quiet and jotted something down.

Putting a hand on his mouth, Bobby shook his head and continued, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

Olivet watched Bobby carefully. "You said that you have never had an episode... I think there are people who would argue differently."

"What do you mean? Do you think I'm psychotic?"

"I think we need to determine that before I can clear you. I know there is something going on in your head, and I think it is potentially dangerous."

Bobby was shocked. He furrowed his brow and responded, "I would never hurt someone unless in self defense or defending another."

"Potentially dangerous, not necessarily to others, but maybe to yourself. Your recent actions have been self-destructive. It's cause for concern, whether you see it or not."

He couldn't look at her anymore. "I can't believe this. The Chief of D's tell you to say that? Or Ross?"

Olivet wrote. "Are you concerned about that?"

"I'm not paranoid," Bobby sternly replied. He stood and started pacing behind the couch, with his hands in his hair. He was agitated and the doctor needed to calm him.

"Okay, okay," Olivet put her hands up. "Please sit back down." Bobby hesitated a moment but complied. Olivet continued, "I wasn't coached, Bobby. I haven't spoken to anyone about your situation. I merely was given a message that you would be required to see me because of the Tates situation. I haven't spoken to the Chief or to Ross. Do you believe me?"

Bobby bit his lip, looked at her, and nodded once.

The doctor smiled, "Okay."

Looking away, Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and asked, "So what's wrong with me?" He looked back at her.

"Is there something wrong with you?"

Bobby threw his arms in the air and said, "You're the shrink."

"And you know that I can't assess your status simply off what we've discussed today. This is just the entrance exam."

His leg started bouncing again as he smugly asked, "And did I pass?"

Olivet shook her head and said, "No." She saw Bobby roll his eyes and she continued, "This isn't going to be easy, Bobby. But I feel that there is a great deal more that we need to discuss. I can't clear you. We've just begun this process."

Bobby's eyes drifted away and Olivet could see the depression in them. He quietly and flatly repeated, "So what's wrong with me?"

The doctor sighed. "From what I can tell, and this is just preliminary analysis, I believe you are suffering from PTSD, which is something I would say for anyone who went through what you recently did. And I think you are suffering from at least moderate depression. Beyond that, I'm not certain." He didn't respond so Olivet continued, "Bobby," she tilted her head to look at his face. "You are known in the NYPD as something of an intellectual Renaissance man. Between this and your, shall we say, complicated family life, I think it's safe to say you know a great deal about psychological disorders."

He looked back at her. "What are you getting at now, Doctor?"

"I am still not certain if I can trust your answers and reactions. Why should I trust them?"

"I guess... because I love my job and I'll do anything I can to get my badge back."

While writing some more, Olivet said, "Hmm. I think that's exactly why I shouldn't trust your answers. And I think you know that." She looked up, "Isn't that right?"

Bobby didn't respond, but looked confused.

Closing the pad of paper, the doctor said, "Alright. Our time is up today, but we will continue at our next session."


	2. Chapter 2: Session 1

Hi everyone! I want to bribe you a little... if I get 10 reviews for chapter 2, I will post chapter 3!

P.S. I know that in an actual hour a lot more would be discussed. But think of this as abridged versions of the sessions.

~D

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**Chapter 2: Session 1**

Bobby sat on the couch.

"I'm glad you came back," Olivet started as she opened her pad of paper.

"Did I have a choice?" he asked.

"Well, I suppose it depends on if you value your privacy or your job more. I take it you value your job more."

Bobby crossed his arms. "I want to make it clear that I do not want to be here, nor do I think these sessions are necessary."

"Oh, you made that very clear when we first met. So let's just say that you're humoring me here... that you are giving me a fascinating subject to psychologically poke and prod at."

Bobby couldn't help but crack a smile.

Olivet smiled too, "There we go. It's already going better than before. Before we begin, I have to ask you an important question."

"Okay..." Bobby's nerves started acting up again.

"Do you feel comfortable with me as your doctor?" She watched for his reaction

Bobby furrowed his brow in confusion and replied, "Um, I suppose so. I... I don't have any reason not to, do I?"

"No, of course not. I just need to let you know that if you do not feel comfortable, there are other doctors available through the department."

He shook his head. "This is fine. Plus, I don't want to have to go through another entrance exam." He smiled genuinely.

The doctor laughed and had her own moment of ease. "No, those are difficult. But I am glad to see that you are already feeling better about this... and I'm glad to see you joke. But you said something interesting just now. Did our first meeting make you nervous or anxious?"

Scratching his neck, Bobby replied, "Um, I suppose... wasn't it obvious? I'm not used to being in these situations. I'm usually on the other side of this."

Olivet nodded and jotted something on the paper. Then she reached to behind her, to a side table and asked, "Would you like to smoke?" as she placed an ashtray on the coffee table.

"How did you...?" Bobby started, confused.

"You tap your lips. It's a nervous habit of people who smoke. A lot of people do that in here."

Bobby moved his hand away from his face and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one and exhaled. This might make the sessions more bearable.

"So, what would you like to talk about today?"

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. After a moment Bobby finally said, "I think it would be better if you lead the direction of these meetings."

"Why's that?" the doctor was genuinely confused.

"Well," Bobby uncrossed his arms, but crossed his legs, "I think it would probably be much less painful for you and much less stressful for me if you lead. After all, I don't want to manipulate you."

"Ouch." She wrote in her pad and continued, "Do you find that you manipulate people often?"

"That's not what I meant." He sighed. "I'm a detective. There is always some manipulation in my job."

"Okay, well how about we talk about your job today."

The leg started shaking again, "What would you like to know?"

"Well, you said that you are on the other side of these situations. Do you find that you use psychology when questioning people?"

"It's kind of my trade mark, I guess. But Ross doesn't always seem to agree with it."

"How's that?"

Bobby shook his head and took a drag, "I don't know. He prefers 'old school' interrogations from what I can tell."

"Ah, like in the old cop movies... slap 'em around and such."

"Yeah, like that."

Olivet bounced her pen on the pad and asked, "And you don't like using those techniques I take it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I... I prefer to understand why someone did or didn't do something. I don't want to scare them into confessing for something that they didn't do. People are complicated and rarely do they ever do anything without some sort of motive. I like to learn their thought process before I judge them."

The doctor wrote in her pad. "That's understandable. So, how is your relationship with your Captain?"

"Um, I don't..." Bobby looked away.

"Bobby, don't worry. If you have something nasty to say about him, I legally can't tell him. I know that you haven't worked with him long. And I am aware that there have been disagreements between the two of you. As long as it's not a threat, I can't report anything, so feel free to say what you feel. It's why you're here."

"Right. Well, he's.... He and I don't see eye to eye. I know that he thinks I am frantic and unhinged at times. I am. But it's what makes me a good detective. My previous Captain, James Deakins, he understood my methods. He probably thought the same things about me. But he knew that they work. When I would interrogate people, he would call it 'The Goren Show'." Bobby smiled at the memory, and Olivet smiled in agreement. But Bobby's smile faded and he continued, "But he got a raw deal and had to resign." He exhaled more smoke.

"And how did that make you feel?"

Bobby made eye contact and responded, "I guess that's when the bottom started falling out. My job was... is my stability. And he was part of the foundation. I wasn't happy but there wasn't anything that I could do. I tried. We all did. That's the job, I guess. Politics." He stubbed out the cigarette and put the pack back in his pocket.

Olivet wrote. "And is your relationship with Ross still... rocky?"

Bobby sighed. "I can't always tell. For all the people that I read day to day, I can't ever tell when Ross wants me there, or wants me out. I want to believe that he respects me, but that he doesn't always know how to deal with me."

Olivet nodded. "And is there anyone in the department that you feel you can go to in a time of need? A support, if you will?"

Tilting his head, Bobby thought for a moment. He didn't need to think about the question, but something made him. Finally he said, "My partner."

"Alexandra Eames."

"Yes."

Again there was more writing and a page was turned. "This is a difficult question, but has there ever been anything romantic between you and Detective Eames?"

He shook his head, but stopped. His mind went to the conversation he had with his brother Frank: _Why don't you take Eames to a hotel and get it out of your system?_ He was brought back to reality when he heard Olivet asking, "Bobby, what is it?"

He shook his head again and rubbed his forehead with a hand. "It's... it's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Um, she keeps me in check. What's more, she puts up with my antics. She saved my life at Tates and I trust her. That's the most important thing, that I trust her."

"Does she trust you?"

"I think so. But I guess you would have to ask her that. We work well together, in my opinion. But at times I feel, I know, that my methods have cost her a promotion. I think she knows I wouldn't be as effective without her, and that's why she stays. But by staying by my side, she risks her reputation."

"How so?"

Bobby looked away. "The Chief of D's doesn't like me. And the longer she is with me, I'm sure the more he doesn't like her. She is the reason why I am still in the NYPD, and the Chief is always looking for ways to get rid of me. But with her there, he can't truly justify getting rid of me."

Olivet wrote. "But do you ever think he is keeping you around because you do a good job? I mean, you are a successful detective with a good number of successful cases under your belt."

He looked back at the doctor. "Don't try to flatter me."

Olivet was put off by this remark. "Um, that wasn't my intention, Bobby. I'm sorry." His mood had shifted back to the guarded man that she met the previous week. She noticed that his leg was still bouncing and shaking. "Does talking about work make you uncomfortable?"

He crossed his arms. "I... I don't know. Isn't that why I'm here? To talk about work?"

"We are here to talk about you. Work just happens to be one element of your life. But if you want, we can change subjects."

"No. I'm not uncomfortable. Let's just keep going."

She nodded. "You have been fidgeting since we started this discussion." She looked down at his leg and his eyes followed. Once seeing this, Bobby halted the movements and cleared his throat.

"I'm fine," he coolly responded.

"How do other detectives receive you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she crossed her legs, "do you feel that you connect with any of the other detectives in Major Case?"

"Detectives rarely see eye to eye."

"So I've learned. Do you give them the opportunity to get to know you?"

He looked away and threw up a hand, "It's not a social hour-"

"But you need social interaction, don't you? Can you work in a place where you don't get along with anyone but Eames?"

"I... I don't know how to answer these questions."

"Try honestly. Do you ever crave more social interaction and comradery in the workplace?"

Bobby watched her for a minute, trying to determine how to respond. His eyes flicked to the clock and a spark of hope hit him. "Doctor, I think our hour is just about up."

She looked at the clock and replied, "We still have a few minutes. It's a simple question, Bobby. You seem to lead a relatively solitary life. Is this something that you want? Or is it something that you want to change?"

"I don't know. I have friends. But I am a detective. We don't have social lives. We work. That's why I'm here. Because I want to get back to work. And I'm done for the day."

Bobby stood and walked out before Olivet could say anything more.


	3. Chapter 3: Session 2

Ok, I am caving and posting the next chapter... think of it as a present in the form of term paper procrastination.

**SPOILERS **for this are from "Endgame" and "Frame"... if you haven't seen them, you might not want to read this, even though the references are just in passing.

I'm including the same deal as before: 10 reviews for chapter 3, and you get chapter 4.

I don't think this chapter is as climactic as others, but, well, you see for yourself.

~DMJ

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**Chapter 3: Session 2**

"Last week we were discussing comradery in the workplace-"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Not this again. I'm done talking about that-"

Olivet raised her hands, "I know, I know. This week I would like to hear more about your family... social life outside of work."

"There isn't much to say about this either."

"Really? Because I get the impression that you have a complicated family situation. Tell me about your family." She put the ashtray between them again in an attempt to make Bobby feel more comfortable. Bobby realized that once again he was tapping his lips with his fingers.

He sighed and pulled out his cigarettes. "Growing up, it was mostly me, my brother, and my mother. My father left when I was young." He lit a cigarette once again.

"Do you hold any grudge against him for that?"

"Not really. I understand why he did it. Our family wasn't put together well. I was young when my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. It tore the family apart. He couldn't deal with it anymore, so he left us to deal with it."

"And you were okay with that?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Bobby replied, "I mean. I wasn't happy about it, but I understood. I was more upset with him for the man he was."

Olivet wrote in her pad. "What kind of man was he?"

"A womanizer. An alcoholic. A gambling addict. He spent all of our family money by the time I was seven. That's when my mother got sick. And she couldn't exactly work full time after that. So we were always scraping for food. My brother got a job as soon as he could... a paper route. That helped for a while, but you can't live off of that kind of 'income'."

"Of course not. Tell me more."

"There isn't much more to tell about him. I didn't know him long before he left. I remember him being angry a lot, but I mostly remember him not being there." He took a drag and blew out the smoke.

"You don't have any contact with him today?"

Bobby shook his head. "He died several years ago. I got a notice to clear out his apartment. It was the first time I had heard anything about him in thirty years. And the last."

Olivet nodded and wrote something down. "And your mother?"

"Classic schizophrenic."

"Is there such a thing?" The doctor raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

Bobby chuckled and took another drag. "I suppose not. My mother... she was very intelligent. She was a librarian at one point." He smiled to himself. "She's the reason why I love reading. But, when it happened... it was hard on everyone. We didn't know what to do. Like I said, Frank tried to take care of us the best a young boy could. The entire neighborhood knew about her. They knew she had lost it. And we had to keep going on. We had no other choice."

"Okay. Tell me about your relationship with her once you were an adult."

"I institutionalized her. I'm not proud of it, but it had to be done. She was erratic. She refused to stay on her medication. I never understood why, especially because she was well aware of the person she turned into when off the pills. And she would apologize for it in the same conversation that she refused meds!"

"That must have been frustrating."

Bobby scoffed. "To say the least." He took another drag and stubbed out the cigarette. Olivet was not surprised when he immediately lit another one. She took it as a sign that Bobby's family was a cause of tension, that once again, he was filled with anxiety.

"Do you or did you ever feel anger towards her?"

"It's pointless now."

Olivet furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"She died a few months ago and there is no point in being angry at a dead woman."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Bobby waved off the apology, leaving a trail of smoke.

Olive asked, "How did she die?"

"She had been battling cancer for a long time. Lymphoma. It finally took her." He continued, "Even when she was alive, I couldn't truly be angry at her. I wanted to be, but I always told myself that it was pointless. She was a good woman who got screwed in life. It wasn't her fault. I can't blame her."

"But that doesn't mean you can't be mad."

"Do you want me to say that I'm mad at her?" Bobby was getting defensive. He stood and took a drag.

Olivet was afraid that he would storm off again like last time. She too stood and calmly said, "No, I'm sorry. I just want you to know that a lot of people feel anger when a loved one dies. And a lot of times it's directed at the person who passed."

"I know that!" he spat back.

"Then why are you upset? Please tell me." They remained standing, facing each other.

"Because it's true! I was angry – am angry at her. I don't want to be. But I am constantly wondering what our family would have been like... what I would have been like if she didn't have the disease. Or... or... or if she would have just dealt with it like the doctors wanted her to!" He rubbed his face and went to stub out the smoke. With this he sat back down and relieved the doctor. She sat with him. He put his face in his hands and sat like that quietly.

After a couple minutes, Olivet spoke, "We don't have to talk about your mother any more. Why don't you tell me about your brother?"

"Ha," Bobby laughed.

Olivet smiled, "What?"

Bobby sat back in the couch and sighed. "Frank was the favorite. He was my mother's favorite until the day she died."

"Did that upset you?"

"It did, but not because of regular sibling rivalry." He shook his head. "Frank is a loser. He's worse than my father was. Take my father and multiply it ten fold. And then add drug addict to the list. That was Frank. He didn't even tell any of us that he had a son. He let our mother die without knowing that she was a grandmother. But still he was the favorite. Even on my mother's death bed she was raving about him. Meanwhile he was worried about if she had money saved up to pay off his habits once she died." He shook his head again. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself." Bobby stopped speaking and looked out to the window.

Another few minutes passed as Olivet allowed Bobby to concentrate on his thoughts. Finally Olivet asked him, "What are you thinking of?"

Bobby paused and looked at her. "The last time I saw him, I told him never to talk to me again. He had told me he was clean. That he was clean to try and help his son. But when I went to his place... he wasn't clean. He had a pipe out. I mean, I tried to help him whenever I could. Eames and I ran into him on the street one day. He was homeless and waiting at a church shelter for food. I gave him money and he probably spent it on drugs. He just... he doesn't care. That's Frank. The last thing I told him was that if I heard he was about to jump off a bridge, I'd just listen for the splash."

"Do you regret telling him that?"

"Sometimes. I think that I am an awful person for shutting out someone, a relative, who obviously needs help. I mean, he did this to himself. He was in college and had a scholarship, but he blew it away with his drugs and gambling. He was going to make a good life, but then he lost it all. And I could have helped him more. I still can. I just can't get over the fact that he was pretty much leaving his son to die." Bobby tapped his lips but resisted the urge to smoke.

Olivet just nodded and asked, "Do you have any other family members?"

"None. My mom, my dad, and my brother. That's all. Now I just have my brother and I shut him out."

"What about your nephew?"

"Donny? All I know about him is that he's a decent kid who got caught up in a bad crowd, and got punished for something he didn't do. I have no clue where he is. He ran off in the Tates incident. I believe he's bipolar, and now he's without his meds. He called Frank once, but no one knows what happened to him. And he escaped from prison, so at this point I'm not sure he should be found."

The doctor looked into Bobby's eyes and saw a forlorn soul. Bobby looked away.

Clearing her throat, Olivet said, "Tell me about your personal life in your free time. What do you do for fun?"

"I told you before, I'm a detective, and we rarely get personal lives."

"Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Even been close to marriage?"

Bobby thought for a second and honestly replied, "No. I watched the world pass me by while I focused on catching bad guys."

"Do you ever regret that?"

He nodded. "Of course. I would love to have had a wife and kids. But it didn't happen. And it's a little late for me now."

Olivet paused. "So you don't date at all?"

"I used to. I haven't in a while."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Like with everything else, I guess I got caught up with work."

"That seems to be your go-to answer," she said as she wrote.

"Well, it's a convenient one, I suppose."

"Would you like to hear my thoughts on it?" she offered.

"Sure" Bobby replied as he rolled his eyes and looked away.

Olivet sat straighter and said, "I think you distance yourself from relationships because of your father. You saw what he did to your family, and you're afraid that you will do the same thing to whoever you fall in love with. You don't want to do that to an innocent person, so for you, it's just easier not to get involved at all. After all, you saw that your brother followed a similar path, and for you it is a guarantee that it will happen. Add on the family history of mental disorders, and you have an excuse to avoid relationships. I think this might apply in part to your work relationships too. You don't want to get close to anyone at work because if this fall happens to you, it is just another kind of ammunition for them to hold against you." When Bobby didn't respond Olivet asked, "What do you think?"

Bobby sat for a couple minutes, appearing as if he was considering this deeply. But really he was thinking of his true father, the man he had recently met. He knew he was nothing like the other man, the alcoholic gambler. But he didn't know how similar he was to his biological father... or to his mother, for that matter. Finally he said, "I think... time is up." And he was right.


	4. Chapter 4: Session 3

_I'm back! Please read & review! _

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**Chapter 4: Session 3**

Things didn't begin well the next time Bobby met with Dr. Olivet. The doctor had no idea what to expect with this patient. There was obviously something dark in this man, but Olivet knew six weeks of suspension counseling wouldn't get them very far with Bobby's problems. The doctor sighed, rubbed her temples, and pressed the button. Once buzzed in, the detective entered quickly and sat heavily on the couch, much like a pouting five year old.

"What's bothering you today?" Olivet innocently asked, instantly knowing that something was wrong.

Bobby faced her and squinting his eyes slightly. "Nothing."

The doctor studied the patient. The patient studied the doctor. Neither could read the other, and thus neither won. Cat's game.

Olivet continued, "Why do you continue to leave these sessions so abruptly?" She braced herself for aggression.

But instead, "You know why," was his childish response as he turned away.

"Tell me anyway," she continued to push.

Bobby lit a cigarette even though the ashtray was nowhere to be found. He paused and thought it was odd that the doctor hadn't offered it to him. He took it as a sign that she was trying to gain more control. Resting his elbows on his knees, Bobby leaned forward and through a cloud of smoke responded, "Because I want to spend as little time here as possible."

They continued to watch each other. Tension was high and Olivet was beginning to feel like one of Bobby's suspects. His intimidation skills were powerful and combining that with his massive size the doctor had to force herself not to be affected. Every session seemed to be revealing a different side of Bobby. This one was his police side. Unfortunately she knew the police side was his mask.

She cleared her throat and, writing some notes, continued, "Alright. Now tell me the truth."

Bobby sat back and took a drag, trying to hide his confusion. "That is—"

"No, it's not," she cut him off. She was done playing games for today. "You leave because you feel it's your way to have some control in a situation where you feel out of control."

"If you know so much about me, why am I even here?!" He crossed and re-crossed his legs.

Olivet paused. "Have you ever been to anger management?"

"No." His foot began nervously tapping and he flicked ash on the coffee table, expecting Olivet to react.

Olivet noticed this as she asked, "Has anyone ever recommended it to you?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek and continued to tap his foot, showing obvious discomfort with the questions. "Why?"

"I just want to know. Please answer the question."

Bobby sighed and looked away. "Yeah."

Olivet wrote. "And who recommended this?"

He hesitated, not knowing where she was going with this. She was right: he needed to be in control. He was always in control. "Um," he shook his head, not wanting to answer. "My captains."

Olivet raised her eyebrows at Bobby, " 'Captains'?" she repeated. "Plural?"

"Yeah. Deakins and Ross. Deakins was more light hearted I guess. He said that he knows I'm a passionate person but that my anger was inappropriate at times. After I interrogated a suspect he told me that I had to cool it a bit. But he never mentioned it again."

The doctor finished writing and asked, "And Captain Ross?"

"He was serious."

She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "Could you tell me what he said?"

"Um, that I need to get my 'rage' under control or I'd be suspended. And here I am."

"But not for rage," Olivet corrected. "And did you take what they said to heart?"

"Not them." He finished his cigarette and got up to find and ashtray. Olivet saw that he didn't want to invade any private spaces so she got the ashtray for him. Bobby swept the ash from the table into the tray.

As they sat back down she asked, "You said, 'not them'. Who else talked to you about your anger issues?"

"First of all, I don't have anger issues!" he said a little too loudly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hesitantly responded, "Eames."

This caught Olivet off guard, "Your partner/"

He nodded. "She said it to me after a case one time. I don't know if she was serious or not."

"What prompted her to say it?"

"I had… gotten angry at a perp. Lost my cool. I kicked him a couple times while he was down and she and another cop had to hold me back. Nothing was ever filed or reported, but Eames, she saw it, the anger, and told me that I needed help, that it had been escalating. And that if it happened again she'd report me."

"When was this?"

"A few years ago."

Olivet nodded slowly. "And did she ever have to report you? Did it happen again?"

He shook his head. "I didn't get physical like that again. Verbal, yes. Hateful... maybe." He stared at his hands.

After a moment of silence Olivet said, "So, I suppose I don't have to ask if you get violent when angry."

Bobby shook his head again. "It's not like that. That was the only time I ever… hurt someone unnecessarily."

Olivet put the pen down. "And how about yourself?"

The detective kept his head down and picked at his fingernails. "I'm not a teenage girl. I don't hurt myself."

"That seems like very black and white thinking coming from you, a person who understands human psychology so well." She paused. "How often do you get drunk to forget? And how many holes have you punched in walls so that you don't hit someone?"

Bobby lit a cigarette and glanced at his knuckles in the process. Both he and the doctor could see the fading scars. Bobby responded, "It's been a long time. I don't do that anymore." He still couldn't look up at her.

"Now you just internalize all your anger. You beat yourself up inside with self loathing. You force yourself to work harder, stay later at 1PP, because that keeps your mind off your own demons and forces personal self hatred from rising. But that pressure is building."

Bobby couldn't believe how accurate Olivet was describing his thoughts.

The doctor continued, seeing the realization on Bobby's face, "You remember your father's anger and you see it in yourself—"

"No," he interrupted, "that's not true."

"—and you don't want to become like your father, with alcohol and gambling and hate—"

Bobby jumped up from his seat, "I am nothing like him!"

"Okay." She had pushed Bobby a little too far and now she needed to calm him down, "What did I say that upset you so much?"

He took a deep breath and started pacing. "He… I… Because he's not my real father." Bobby stood, defeated. "Mark Ford Brady was. I just found out."

Olivet was confused. "The man who was just executed? In your file it says that you worked on his case. He's… how did you find out this?"

The doctor saw pain in Bobby's eyes as the large man moved back to the sofa. He stubbed out his cigarette. "He asked for me and Eames specially. He has a picture of my mother in one of his prize books. I asked her and she admitted to an affair... that she was never certain who my father was. So I had a blood test. I'm his son." He stopped, but Olivet knew he wanted to continue so she said nothing. After a moment Bobby said, "I don't remember him, but my brother does. The last time Brady and my mother saw each other was when she changed"

"Does anyone else know?"

He shook his head. "I'm too afraid to tell them."

"Why? Do you think they will judge you because of this?"

"I don't know. You judged me based on the man I thought was my father." He looked up at the doctor.

"Because I believe a big part of anger is learned."

It was as if Bobby didn't hear the last remark. He continued, "And I am already the department 'whack job' according to the Chief." He sighed. "I don't know what I am. My mother was schizophrenic, my brother is an addict, my childhood father was an addict, and my biological father was a serial rapist and killer."

"And do you think you're any of those?"

"I don't know."

That troubled Olivet. The detective hadn't denied any of these characteristics or diseases, but perhaps was coming to terms with something he had suspected for a while.

Bobby started pacing again. "Ever since I found out, my thoughts have been racing."

"Racing thoughts? Why haven't you mentioned this before?" Olivet quickly jotted in her notepad.

Bobby stopped pacing and looked at her. "It's not what you think."

"Then you know why I'm asking." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, and I'm not manic. I'm just confused." His voice was rising. "A major part of my identity was just proven to be a lie!" He was nearly in her face at this point. Bobby saw her tense and could tell that she was suddenly afraid of him, something that he never intended. He put his hands up apologetically and took a couple steps back. "I... I should go."

As he turned to leave Olivet ran around and stopped him. "No. Please, Detective. We should continue." She could see him weighing this thought and finally he turned and returned to the sofa.

They sat in silence for at least five minutes. Olivet was about to speak, but Bobby got to it first. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't. I swear." He put his head in his hands and stared at the floor.

"It's okay, Bobby. You and I both know that this can be a very emotional process." The doctor looked at the clock. "Our session is over for today, but before I let you go I need to know that you will be okay once you leave this office."

"I can't anticipate anything with certainty."

She nodded, "I know. But please, call me if there is anything, _anything_, that you want to talk about once you get home. In fact, I'd like you to call me tonight so that I can sleep better." She reached to the side table, took a business card and jotted down a number. "This is my cell number."

He took the card and said, "This isn't necessary-"

"I'm sure it isn't. But please try to remember."

Bobby nodded, took the card, and left.

He never called that night.


	5. Chapter 5: Session 4

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_ok, this chapter is based off something Bobby and the Captain said during Purgatory that has been bugging me a lot (and Purgatory takes place sometime after this story). If you don't know what I'm talking about, just ask and I will tell you via personal message. _

_Also, I have Chapter 6 done as well, but I don't know if that will be the last chapter or if there will be an epilogue._

_Please R & R, and as always Enjoy!  
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**Chapter 5: Session 4**

The doctor buzzed in her next patient.

With a lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth, Bobby walked into the office. Olivet could immediately tell there was something different about the detective as he heavily sat down.

She put the ashtray on the table and asked, "Is everything alright, Bobby?"

He exhaled his smoke and replied, "Of course. What wouldn't be alright?"

"You never called me last week like I asked."

Bobby shook his head and replied, "I forgot. I must have fallen asleep or something."

Something was wrong, but the doctor didn't press. "Okay. What would you like to talk about today?" she asked, hoping that this change in attitude was simply his way of showing his comfort in therapy, but she knew it wasn't.

"I told you I want you to determine that." He stood to take off his coat, and stumbled a bit.

Then it hit her... the realization and the scent. "You've been drinking."

"Why does that matter? It opens me up."

"Bobby, I'm not okay with patients coming here drunk." She flipped her pad closed and tossed it on the table. "We can reschedule this for when you are sober-"

"I'm not drunk," he replied. "I had a few drinks, but I'm not drunk."

The doctor was torn. She didn't like this, but was hesitant to stop the session. This man was hard to talk to on a good day. Reserved in nature, perhaps alcohol would be a temporary gateway to allow him to talk more freely. Just for today.

"How much have you had?"

Bobby shrugged and leaned back in the couch. "A few fingers of Glenlivet and a few beers." He took a drag.

"It's 3 o'clock."

"I know. I had to stop drinking so that I could get here in time."

Olivet paused, concerned. "How did you get here today, Detective?"

He sighed, "I took a cab. Just because I was drinking doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"Yeah, okay. Let's just start."

She picked up her pad and reopened it. "If we are going to do this, I need you to focus. Please look at me."

Bobby complied and propped his elbows on his knees. "I promise I'm not drunk."

"Why did you drink before you came here?"

He scratched his neck with his smoke free hand and responded, "I honestly don't know. I was going to go get a burger. And instead I got a beer. And then another..."

"How often do you drink?"

Bobby just shook his head.

"Come on," Olivet said. "You have to answer me. Has it been more often than you used to?"

"Yeah, I suppose it has. I don't really keep track."

She put down the pen and paper, realization setting in. "This is why you didn't call. You were drunk and didn't want me to hear it in your voice."

Bobby simply glanced at her and quickly looked away.

The doctor continued, "And based on the shame I see, this isn't a new trend for you. I'm guessing you've been drunk every day since I last saw you."

Without saying a word Bobby just watched her, crossed his arms, and placed a hand on his chin.

She wrote. "I'll take that as a yes. Do you consider yourself an alcoholic?"

Bobby was shocked. "What? Why would you-?"

"You said your father... the man you grew up with as your father was an alcoholic and that your brother is a drug addict. Do you ever wonder if they have influenced your life with their drinking and addictions?"

He knew it was an honest question, but he knew that her suspicion was not a genetic possibility. And from the previous session he knew she was aware of this as well. "No. I am not an alcoholic."

Olivet nodded. "Does drinking ever interfere with your work?"

"I don't let it." Even though Bobby thought he would be more forthcoming after a few drinks, he realized that his answers were shorter than normal. He took a drag off his cigarette and stubbed it out. "I don't drink before or during work. I couldn't jeopardize a case like that." He started rocking slightly but caught himself. Unfortunately he didn't stop before Olivet saw.

She asked, "Do you ever feel a need to drink?"

"I said that I'm not an alcoholic-"

"Please just answer the question." She had little patience for him today.

"Do I ever feel the need?" he repeated. After a pause he responded, "No." A lie.

And she knew it. "You're lying to me, Bobby. How often do you feel a need to drink?" He didn't respond. Instead he looked away, biting the tip of his thumb. She continued, "Is it most days?"

He turned and watched her, trying to read her game, but turned away again.

She continued, "You're feeling the need for another one right now, aren't you?"

He looked back at her and slightly nodded, putting down his hand. "I... it's not a problem."

"Because even though you want to drink, you don't allow yourself to."

"I try not to. But sometimes... when I do drink, I tend to have more than I planned."

She sighed. "That's not good, Bobby, and you know it. How long has this been going on?"

He stood up and walked behind the couch. Leaning his hands on the couch back, he said, "I don't know. I've been drinking since I was in the army. I was always careful. Maybe it's been the past couple years."

"It seems like a lot has happened to you in the past couple of years."

"Yeah." He came back around and sat down.

"Why do you drink?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Like everyone else? To get drunk?" he joked. But Olivet didn't find this funny. She waited for him to continue. "Because it's an easy way not to have to think. It quiets my inner dialogue. It helps me... forget who I am."

"Drugs do that too. Do you ever use drugs?"

"Just caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol. I never did the drug scene. Never saw the point."

Olivet wrote again. "Has the smoking been a recent thing too? I get the sense you're a little bashful or ashamed of your smoking."

Bobby shook his head again. "I smoked when I was young. But I kind of quit around '95 or '96 I think. I... I picked it back up... the past couple years I guess." He hung his head.

"Do you want to quit. I notice you often seem to want another one, but you don't allow yourself to have it."

"Am I that transparent?" he asked, looking up. "Honestly, I just don't want Eames to know that I'm smoking again. I had just quit when we were first partnered up, but I would occasionally indulge. She hated it. She would lecture me on smoking and how horrible it is for me... and she would especially lecture on how horrible it was for her with second hand. I wanted to quit then, so I did for my health."

"And now? Do you want to try to quit again?"

He shrugged. "I guess I do sometimes. But I missed smoking. It's a release. Granted now if you smell like smoke it's worse than wearing a letter on your chest. People are quick to judge smokers."

"And drinkers, and gamblers. Do you gamble?"

"You are trying really hard to turn me into my father or brother. Why don't you just ask me if I rape and kill women too?!" he defensively replied.

"Okay. Do you?"

He scoffed and looked away. "No, and I don't gamble either. That was something I could never forgive with either my father or brother. I watched them dig themselves into holes. I saw it when I was very young with my father and again as I grew up with my brother. I never wanted that."

"But you didn't have the same reaction with drinking."

It was a statement, not a question, so Bobby remained quiet.

Olivet nodded and took some notes. "You mentioned health."

"Did I?" Bobby crossed his legs.

"Yes. Do you consider yourself healthy?" She watched him closely and thought that he must have been telling the truth when he said he wasn't drunk. He was acting as sober as a judge now.

"I'm not twenty anymore. I'm 47. Plus I drink, I smoke, I don't eat right, I don't .... well, I hardly ever sleep..."

Olivet was amazed. She didn't know why Bobby was admitting this all of a sudden. But she let him continue.

"... so no, I guess I'm not the healthiest person out there. My body and mind are sluggish."

"Have you noticed any changes in your appearance?"

"You mean besides my lovely spattering of gray hair? Yeah. I don't take care of myself anymore. I stopped exercising and when I eat it's usually take out. As a result I've gained weight. I wanted to blame it on getting older, but I know it's my own doing. And I don't feel as effective as a detective because of it. I feel like I've aged ten years in the last two."

"Eventually we will need to get to the bottom of the past two years. I won't torture you with that today, but I want you to start thinking about it. I feel that from the past couple years, stress has been a big part of your life, and it has taken effect in many negative ways, as it often does. I think our time is up today." She and Bobby both rose. Just before he opened the door she continued, "And Detective Goren, don't ever come here drunk again."


	6. Chapter 6: Session 5

****WARNING** Ok, so I feel that I need to put a warning up on this chapter. It is a DARK chapter with dark themes which may be triggers for some. I really don't want to give away too much. If I state the triggers here in the warning, it will ruin the climax of this chapter for others. If you are worried about these triggers PLEASE message me and ask me about them before you read the chapter.** As always, thanks for reading and please review!!!

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Chapter 6: Session 5**

"Let's begin. Are you sober?" asked Olivet.

"Yes."

Olivet sighed. "Honestly I was shocked when you came in here after a few drinks." She stopped herself from using the term 'drunk'.

"Why's that?" Bobby had yet to look at her in this session.

"Because you are obsessed with being in control of every situation and you beat yourself up if you aren't. Alcohol does not allow complete control."

The detective finally looked at her with a powerful gaze, yet said nothing.

Olivet continued, "Are you happy?"

"No."

Olivet looked up from her pad of paper, surprised. "You answered that rather quickly."

Bobby paused before responding, "I guess I've known the answer to that question for a long time." The ashtray was already in place and he lit a cigarette.

"If not happiness, what emotions do you feel?"

This wasn't what Bobby wanted to talk about. He didn't want to talk at all anymore. And he really didn't want to be there that day. But he knew he had to be or he would never start working again. He knew it was just a matter of time before his mind erupted. And he was afraid, not for himself, but for whoever was in the lava's path. With his lips squeezed tight, Bobby searched his brain, trying to answer the doctor's question.

After a moment of silence, Olivet offered the reflection, "You don't know the emotions you feel?"

He was uncertain how to answer these questions. He didn't like being the one interrogated. Granted this wasn't an interrogation, but for some reason this session sure felt like one. Something felt different today. Bobby finally responded, "On my bad days I feel … I hate myself. I disgust myself. I try not to think about myself on those days."

The doctor wrote something on her pad. "And on your good days?"

"I feel… numb? I don't know how to describe it. On my good days I feel empty, I suppose. I can manage on those days because I don't have any kind of personal hate to dwell on." He blew out smoke.

Again there was writing. "So it's not just that you're not happy at this time. It's that you're not happy in life. Do you feel happiness even in small doses, like when something good happens?"

This was uncomfortable. He knew that she would know if he was lying, she always did. And lying would be worse for him than telling the awful truth. "I used to. I don't know when I last did. It's been awhile. I mean, I can smile, but generally to intimidate a suspect or because people expect a smile in certain situations. And I can see other peoples' happiness. I just don't get joy in life like I used to."

"Did you ever think that maybe there was a problem with that?"

Bobby tried to think hard. He wanted to remember the last time he was happy, and he wanted it to be recently, even if it was for some minute, insignificant thing. Even if it was just so that they could get past these questions. But he couldn't. "My brain hasn't been working like it used to. I don't connect ideas the same way anymore. I guess that's probably part of the reason why I am here… why I am required to be here." He looked away, ashamed to be seen in this vulnerable state. "I guess if I didn't loathe myself, I didn't really think about myself at all." He took a final drag and stubbed out the cigarette.

"And at the times when you did, or do, loathe yourself? Tell me what exactly goes through your head. Even though you say your mind isn't the same, knowing your reputation with the force, and getting to know you, I don't believe you are capable of shutting out all your thoughts."

Putting his face in his hands, Bobby held back the urge to walk out of the office. Instead he lit another cigarette. _I am worthless_, he thought, and he said, "I'm a burden to everyone around me. And everyone I get close to dies."

"Do you often think about death?"

"That's not what I said."

"I know. But do you? Think about death often?"

Bobby scoffed and looked up. "It's hard not to in my line of work." Another drag. Another exhale.

"I suppose that's true to an extent. But how about your own death? Do you think about that?"

Bobby looked away, as if trying to piece together the correct words. He shook his head to himself, knowing exactly what this was. "You're asking if I'm suicidal."

"More or less, yes. And your thoughts on your life and death."

Bobby sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I often wish that I wasn't alive." He shook his head again and crossed his arms over his chest, kicking himself for saying it like that.

The doctor shifted in her seat. She was not prepared to hear that. She put the pad and pen down and folded her hands in her lap. "You understand that what you're saying is a serious matter and that there are steps I am required to take if this is true-"

"I know what I'm saying, and so do you."

"Do you want to live?"

Bobby sighed, "You're asking me if I want to die... if I plan on killing myself."

"Yes. Are you suicidal?" She watched him closely.

"There is a difference between being suicidal and wishing that I wasn't alive. I have thoughts about death. I wonder what would happen if I died... what would happen to the people in my life."

"You mean your partner, Eames."

"I suppose, yes. I think about it. I think about everything that goes with thinking about it." He shifted in his seat.

"Bobby, you're tiptoeing around this situation that you've put me in-"

Sighing again, Bobby continued, "I'm not suicidal. But if I suddenly got sick or got shot in pursuit and was dying, I can't promise that I'd be upset." He stubbed out his unfinished smoke.

Furrowing her brow, Olivet said, "I don't quite understand."

"I'm sure you do, but you want to make certain that I understand too. I am not going to take action and cause my own death. But if I died... I'm not certain it would be entirely bad."

"But you want to die?"

"Most days, yes."

"I'll ask again. Do you ever want to live?"

He rubbed his neck. "I... I don't know anymore."

Olivet picked up her pen and began writing again. "How long have you felt like this?"

Looking to the ceiling, Bobby honestly tried to recall. "I can't remember when I didn't... I guess I just hid it better back then."

"Do these thoughts ever get sparked from your drinking?"

He nodded. "That's when they're strongest."

"Does anyone else know about this? Eames? Ross? Anyone?"

Bobby shook his head. "I... I never talk about this with anyone. But I am sure they know. I mean, I'm here, and not by choice."

"Yes, but that was primarily because of your investigation at Tates. Not because they suddenly realized you pray for death."

"True, but with my recent actions I'm sure they wonder." Bobby stared at the floor.

"I need you to be completely honest with me when I ask you the next few questions."

He only nodded and raised his eyes to hers.

She continued, "Have you ever attempted suicide?"

"No."

"You said that you aren't suicidal, but have you ever felt like you might commit suicide?"

"There have been times."

"Recently?" She needed to know this and she needed to know it now.

"A few years ago."

"And since then?"

Bobby paused. He didn't want to tell her the truth. He didn't want anyone to know about his personal problems. But yet he answered, "I've thought about it... often."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Did you ever devise a plan on how you could commit suicide?"

He nodded and looked away.

Olivet slowly nodded, considering how far she could press at this given time. "Can you tell me about it? What was your plan?"

He rubbed his hand over his lips, as if wondering whether or not to indulge her curiosities. He could still get out of this. Yet he thought better of it. "The cop special."

"Death by firearm," Olivet said, as if she had heard it a thousand times before. Then again, maybe she had. Just as she was about to ask more, Bobby continued.

"And by subway.... and overdose... hanging... razor blades... or maybe by taking the hero's way out and forcing a perp to shoot me." He looked away.

Olivet was stunned, but she didn't let it show. Of all that she had heard about this man and from this man, she didn't think she would have to deal with such a serious matter. "Do you ever think of these plans and consider them again?"

Bobby whispered, "I'm not suicidal, I swear." He knew how ridiculous this sounded after all he had said.

"Really? Because your answers suggest that you are."

"I'm NOT!" He screamed, looking directly at her and wishing he was in control of the situation.... suddenly wishing he could start over. He tried to calm down as he listened to the doctor.

For an instant the doctor was afraid that this large detective might get violent, but still she repeated, "Do you ever think of these plans and consider them again?"

Bobby paused, watching, staring at her intently. Finally he just nodded.

"You and I both know that you could have lied about all of this." Her voice shook ever so slightly. "You are a brilliant profiler and you could have manipulated me so that you'd get your badge back. Why didn't you? There has to be a reason."

He looked away again and choked back a sob. "I don't want to die. But I don't know how to prevent it anymore."

Olivet leaned down and strained her neck to get a glimpse of Bobby's face. "I can't ignore this, Bobby."

"I know."

Still peering, "And if we don't deal with this, it could cost you your shield. But more importantly, I feel it could cost you your life."

"I know."

She sighed. "I wanted to clear you soon, but because of this, I can't. Not yet, anyway. Bobby, it's been six weeks, and I have to talk to the department after this session. Legally I can't tell your superiors the extent of our conversations." She paused, "But I am going to recommend a six month suspension with continued therapy. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

She softened her voice. "You'll get through this, Bobby."

He looked up with tears in his eyes. "I know."

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_I have decided to continue this story with one more chapter as an epilogue. Yay!_


	7. Chapter 7: Epilogue

Epilogue

Bobby exited the building and closed the door quietly behind himself. Turning to the street he immediately saw the smiling face that greeted him after almost every session, just as he had done for her after her kidnapping. But as Bobby walked closer, her smile faded and her brows furrowed.

"Bobby," Alex said, seeing his red rimmed eyes, "Are you okay?"

He nodded and climbed into the passenger side of their SUV. Alex hesitantly climbed in, knowing something was horribly wrong.

Alex was about to start the car but stopped. Turning to her partner she asked, "Are these good tears or bad?"

He stared forward as he responded, "I… I'm not sure yet. I'm still processing everything."

Alex nodded. She knew things were going to be different for a while, but that once he started working again things would fall back into place.

"I bet you'll be glad to get back to work," she said.

But Bobby didn't respond and Alex's stomach knotted. She pulled the car over and put it in park. Looking at her and utterly confused Bobby asked, "Why'd you stop? What are we doing?"

"I don't know. What _**are**_we doing? What are _**you**_doing?"

He shook his head. "I don't understand," he said.

"You! Why aren't you talking to me?" her voice quivered.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you."

"Tell me what's going on! Tell me what happened in there today that got you so upset!"

"He cleared his throat. "First of all, I don't have to tell anyone anything about my sessions. And second, nothing happened." His voice was flat. "Nothing ever happens in there."

"Then why were you crying?!"

Bobby self-consciously wiped his eyes only to find that they were dry.

Alex continued, "Why every week do you leave there in a hurry and a huff?"

"I don't like being analyzed." He couldn't look at her.

She shook her head. "And why did you text me that you didn't need a ride last week?"

"Because I was drunk!" Bobby got out of the car and slammed the door. He started walking down the sidewalk, forcing Alex to follow him.

"You came here drunk? Why would you do that?" She had to run to catch up with is large strides.

"I don't… I don't know!" He spun around to face her. "But I didn't want you to see me like that." He looked her in the eyes and saw the confusion spread across her face. It broke his heart to see her like this.

But he didn't realize the emptiness Alex saw in his eyes.

"Bobby, please," Alex begged, "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on with you." She gently touched his arm. "You're scaring me."

Running a hand through his hair, Bobby sighed and responded, "Fine, we'll talk. But not here. Let's get some coffee." He glanced at the diner across the street and started walking. Once seated, Bobby ordered a black coffee and Alex ordered a burger and fries.

The waitress walked away and Alex said, "When was the last time you had a real meal?"

"I don't know." He looked at her blankly.

"You should really eat. You're starting to lose weight."

"Yeah. I don't know if that's such a bad thing." He looked away and started tapping his fingers on the table. "I haven't been hungry recently."

"I've heard smoking suppresses appetites," Alex flatly stated. He widened his eyes and she continued, "Yeah, that's right, Goren. You're not the only person who can sniff out things."

"Yeah," he said, "so I've been smoking again. I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is."

Alex was getting aggravated. "Drinking, smoking, what else are you trying to hide from me, Bobby?"

He sighed and looked away, collecting his thoughts.

Silence passed between them for a few minutes before Alex asked, "Are you going to tell me what's—"

"My suspension's been extended," Bobby blurted out.

And time stood still.

Alex shook her head in disbelief. "Wait. What?"

"It's not official yet—"

"How long?"

"—Dr. Olivet and I just talked about it today—"

"How long, Bobby?"

He looked her in the eyes and folded his hands in front of his mouth. "Six months."

The waitress came and set down Alex's food and Bobby's coffee. Neither detective spoke. While Bobby stared into his coffee, Alex realized she'd lost her appetite.

Pushing her plate away she asked, "What changed? I thought you were supposed to come back next week. Did something happen?"

"Um… It's…" He shifted in his seat revealing his discomfort. "I just don't feel right anymore… I don't feel well."

She shook her head again. "I don't understand. Did the Chief of D's decide this?"

"No." Bobby looked her in the eyes again. "Dr. Olivet and I discussed… well, a lot of things. And this is for the best for everyone… for you, me, the department – everyone."

"I know you're not telling me the whole story, Bobby."

He looked out the window as he said, "I'm not well." Bobby glanced at Alex but quickly looked back out the window.

"Wait," she furrowed her brow, "Are you sick?"

Bobby shook his head and smiled slightly. "No. Well, yes." He sighed, "Not exactly. This is hard to explain."

Alex reached across the table and took hold of his hand. "Please try. I just…. I want to help."

Bobby wasn't certain why, but he slowly pulled his hand away and leaned back in his seat. Once again Alex was thoroughly confused. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling that Bobby was still slipping away. Just as she opened her eyes, Bobby continued talking.

"I'm not healthy – physically, mentally, emotionally. I need to get healthy again."

Alex just nodded, encouraging him to continue.

He did, "I know that I'm not the same as I used to be… and I'm sorry for that."

"Bobby, you don't have to apologize for going through hard times."

"I know but—"

"No, Bobby, let me finish." She crossed her arms, "It's no secret that you're struggling – that you've been struggling for a couple years now. But people care about you." He rolled his eyes. She continued, "_**I**_ care about you. But I can't help you if you don't let me in every once in a while."

He nodded. "I know. This stuff is… it's just hard to talk about and I don't know if you'll understand. I don't know if you'll ever look at me the same."

Alex reached out for his hand and he gave it to her. She gently raised his chin to look him in the eyes and said, "Try me. I promise I won't judge you." She lowered her hand and put it with the other.

Keeping the gaze, Bobby replied, "You can't promise something like that, Alex."

She quietly sighed and gave a slight smile, not saying a word.

Bobby held his partner's hand a little tighter. He continued, "Like I said, I'm not healthy. The doctor thinks… the doctor and I both think that I need more time off to re-evaluate things so that I don't do something rash… something _dumb_." He emphasized the last word.

"Something dumb?" Alex asked. She squinted her eyes at Bobby as though it would help her read his thoughts. Perhaps it did. She sat straighter and her eyes widened as realization hit her. Subconsciously she squeezed his hand, afraid that letting go would cause him to fall further in his depression. "Bobby," Alex continued, "I had no idea you were contemplating—"

He cut her off, "I wasn't. I mean, I was but at the same time I knew I couldn't. Dr. Olivet just wants to make certain that I get help so that I don't follow through."

She shook her head. "Do you, um… do you have to go away… go to a clinic or hospital or anything like that?" It was hard for her to wrap her brain around these thoughts.

"I don't think so," Bobby responded, "But I guess… I don't know. Dr. Olivet and I didn't talk about that. She said we would figure things out next week." He rubbed her free hand over his face and continued, "With my family history I never would have guessed that this would feel so foreign. It's been coming for a long time, though. And it's finally time for me to confront my problems."

"How long have you been um... feeling like this?" Her voice shook ever so slightly.

Bobby's voice was almost a whisper as he responded, "A long time."

"I had no idea."

Bobby shook his head, "I've been trying to hide it for just as long. I've been hiding... bottling up a lot of things. But Dr. Olivet is starting to help me realize that this pent up aggression... this bottled up depression is getting dangerous. Maybe that's the reason I went undercover, because I didn't expect to come out of there." He couldn't look at her as he said that. "The department was right to make me go see a shrink. I was getting closer and closer to-" he heard her draw in a breath. Bobby didn't want to continue his thought but he knew he had to. "I was getting closer to finding a way out. It's hard to admit that, but it's the truth."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

He knew he had hurt her. In trying to protect her, he had hurt her. "Because I was ashamed... I was ashamed of myself. I didn't want to be labeled in the same group as the rest of my family."

"I can't believe you were thinking of..." She choked back the words. A glimmer of tears were in Alex's eyes. She turned her head down, letting her hair fall over her face so that Bobby couldn't see her sadness. But of course he did.

"Hey, hey," he gently said as he put his free hand on top of hers, joining all their hands together. "Everything's going to be okay. I'm getting help now. I'm going to be okay." He rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand in an attempt to comfort his partner.

Alex looked at Bobby, her lip quivering as she repressed her tears. "You can't promise something like that, Bobby," she replied, paralleling his earlier statement.

Bobby smiled at her witty response, his first genuine smile in a long time. And Alex knew that with some care he would be okay. She would do whatever it took to help him through these hard times. But most of all, both Alex and Bobby knew that with some work their partnership would hold strong.

FIN. 


End file.
